The Things I Carry

Someone asked me the other day about my necklace. Then they apologised and suggested it was too personal a question.

But it’s not. I’m more than happy to talk about my necklace, it’s just that no one ever asks.

What I wear is a silver matchbox on a long chain. I wear it every day and with all outfits. I sleep with it on. I only take it off when I bathe. Usually the matchbox is hidden in my cleavage, so people don’t tend to even notice it. It’s similar to this one, from picclick.com:

antique-1903-solid-silver-english-vesta-match-box-_1

The matchbox is hallmarked for 1910, and belonged to my great grand-uncle. He was a pipe smoker, but I don’t use it for matches.

What I keep inside it is mostly rocks. Tiny rocks.

There’s a piece of basalt from outside my childhood home in Flagstaff, AZ. Basalt is one of the most common, most basic rocks on Earth – kind of a building block of both the Earth and the Moon.

There’s a piece of amethyst, which the ancient Greeks believed would prevent intoxication and give you clarity of mind.

There’s obsidian, for protection, and tiger eye, for courage.

There’s turquoise, and a piece of sandstone from the Grand Canyon. There’s iron pyrite from Meteor Crater, which I cherished at the age of 6 because I truly believed it was gold.

Then there’s a poem about a friend I lost in my childhood. There’s a claw from my cat, Turtle. who died 14 years ago. There’s the silver ring that my husband first gave me (which is actually too big to fit my fingers).

What I carry with me is strength and foundation. I carry the memories that keep old loves alive, and the symbol of new love. I carry home with me, and faith, and a sense of the wonder and mystery of the world.

I carry with me everything I need.

 

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